Worlds Away
by Tamarai
Summary: A vignette set during the ‘Bizarre Love Triangle’ Arc, in which Rogue decides to move out of Remy’s room on the sly.


**Summary:** A vignette set during the 'Bizarre Love Triangle' Arc, and focusing on Rogue's emotions & thoughts when she decides to move out of Remy's room on the sly.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the X-men nor am I affiliated with Marvel in any way.

**Author's Notes:** For those who haven't read the 'Bizarre Love Triangle' arc in the comics, it takes place after both Rogue and Gambit's mutations are restored and they rejoin the X-men, only to face a potential infidelity in their relationship when a sassy, new, femme fatale student sets her sights on Remy, causing a rift in the already struggling relationship between Rogue and Gambit. Rogue decides it's better they break up since she can no longer give Remy the physical contact he'd grown accustomed to while they both were depowered. This is also my first jump at writing a vignette.

* * *

They used to live together. Used to sleep in the same bed. Used to touch. Then she'd made a choice. One that changed everything.

So here they were, at their present situation. Two separate beds sharing one room. It was supposed to help them reconnect on an astral plane. It was supposed to help them be what they once were. To her, it only made things worse.

The distance between their beds was not far by any stretch of the imagination, five feet at the most.

A world away from where she used to sleep.

She would lay there in the dark, night after night, in her cold, single bed across from his, just listening to him breathe. Listening to his body shift to more comfortable positions. Listening, never touching.

If the situation bothered him, he never let on, this mock intimacy slowly driving them apart. Roommates instead of lovers.

Did it bother her?

Yes.

It hurt something fierce way down deep to remember waking up in his arms. Skin to skin. His lips on hers. It was real. It was tangible. She could believe it was real, that they could work.

But, complacency breeds discord. He was restless. He always was. Not fit for a normal life that one, but he tried. He tried so hard for her, and in the end, she was the one who caved. Didn't even ask him if he wanted it. She gave them back their old lives.

And sacrificed the very thing she needed most from him.

She pulled her suitcase from his closet.

He was still trying. Even now while she was placing the suitcase softly on her bed, he was still trying. Trying so hard to make it work. Trying and failing. She could see it, could see it wasn't working, and still he kept at it.

He was restless.

He wasn't used to being forced back into old routines after months of lover's bliss. His thoughts often interrupted by younger, prettier, touchable things.

She knew.

She knew all about the girl. The girl he tried so desperately not to think of. The girl who made what she wanted from him _oh so very clear_. It was a losing battle—this thing he was trying to deny.

Yet, he still tried to make this work. This celibacy.

It wasn't the sleeping arrangements that had gotten to him. It was the no touching. No touching the way they used to. He'd grown accustomed to the full access of her flesh. And now it was gone.

He was restless.

They were both trying too hard. Trying to make things right. He would get frustrated when things didn't work. She would close herself off. He would say little things that stung like bees. Sharp little nicks to get infected later. She would get defensive and leave. It was always the same.

Hurt what you love.

She finished putting the last of her things into the suitcase. Taking a moment before shutting it tight. She would not cry. No, not this time, this was for the best—for both of them.

The suitcase was on the floor now, and she was making her bed. Neat and perfect like a hotel room. It was a fitting comparison. This was never her room. She was only a guest in this room.

When he returned from wherever he was and whatever he was doing, he would find her gone.

He would know instantly. He always did. He knew her too well. He would line all his apologies and pretty words neatly in a row and seek her out. Ready to take all the blame. Ready to try so hard again, and again, and again, until he got it right.

She stood between the beds, picking up her suitcase. Such a small space between to feel so far away.

Worlds away.

Which was where she wanted to be from him now.

End


End file.
